Heard 'Round the World
by tricksters apprentice
Summary: Set directly after 'Shadow'. Sam and Dean lick their wounds as they investigate whose youth have seen too much, and now, their deceased peers are looking for the revenge denied to them in life. But with the brothers divided, will both of them manage to c
1. Chapter 1

Heard 'Round the World

Summary: Set directly after 'Shadow'. Dean and Sam lick their wounds as they investigate a town whose youth have seen too much. And some of their deceased peers are out for the revenge denied them in life.

Disclaimer: Everything recognizable is owned by Kripke and Co.

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_In his arms, Sam bled and smiled, traced his face with a battered hand, and died. Dean desperately searched for a pulse on the one person he could never imagine losing. The cold skin beneath his fingers ushered his worst nightmare out onto center stage._

"_No. NO!"_

"Dean, wake up!"

Dean jerked awake with a start and grabbed for the face so near to his own, hand grasping at thick hair and tugging, just to make sure it was real.

"Dean! Let me go!" Sam pulled at the hold slightly, knowing that Dean was currently functioning with neither brain, upper or lower, so knowing that his brother most likely had no idea that the "Biggest Chick Flick Moment Ever Recorded" was threatening to break down their motel door unless Dean decided to come to his senses and abandon the tug-of-war with Sam's hair. So far, not many follicles were on the winning side and Sam's head was suffering the consequences.

"Sammy?" Dean muttered, sleep moving his voice down several octaves. His dream was flashing in bits and pieces before his eyes, the animate face in front of him constantly switching back to the rigid face in his mind, the rigor mortis preserving for eternity the look of a doomed man smiling in the face of death, before the physical contact brought him back to reality. Finally, it came back to him – Sam and he had crashed at the first motel they had come to once they were several cities out of Chicago. Dean himself had escaped with minor cuts that needed no stitches, which Dean would be eternally grateful for, since he neither like getting sewed together or the scars that such things left on his handsome mug.

Sam, on the other hand, had not been so lucky. The slices on his face had required some thread, and the ones across his stomach were bleeding profusely. Once the blood had ceased to soak through every material applied to it, Dean had been able to see that the cuts didn't actually need to be sewed, just bandaged. The blood loss worried him for a while, but Sam had been as alert as could be expected and had remained conscious to help convince his psychotic pit bull of an older brother that a hospital visit courtesy of Brian May 1 was not called for.

Struggling to catch his breath, the elder Winchester unhooked his fingers from the younger's tender locks. Sam rocked back to sit on the bed, his eyes tracing Dean's face. "You there, man?"

Dean swallowed, fighting the bile that rose in his throat as he remembered cooling fingers traveling the same paths as those hazel eyes. "Peachy."

"Didn't seem so five minutes ago when you were trying to mimic a pre-pubescent girl."

A sneer worked its way onto the man's face. "Screw you."

But Sam was a predator when it came to seeking out buried emotions and now there was blood in the water. "I'd think that telling me about your dream would be more appealing to you than incest."

"You'd be surprised," Dean grunted. Sam merely raised his eyebrows, eyes flashing with something that was gone too quickly for his brother's sleep clogged brain to identify, before a concerned look came over his features. "You were screaming for me. Pretty loudly too. I'd be surprised if no one else heard you." Dean rolled his eyes at his brother's characteristic digging into his psyche.

"Don't look too much into it, Freud, just a little snapshot of how things could've turned out in the Windy City." Sam nodded, rising to his feet and shuffling back to the other motel bed. He laid down on his back but though the younger brother closed his eyes, Dean knew his brother wasn't slipping into a land of lollypops and candy canes; Dean knew everything about his brother. "Sam, you need to sleep."

"You need to get your dream off your chest so that I won't be rudely awakened again."

"I didn't wake you up."

"You could've."

"I also could've taken up the cute bartender on her offer of a night I'd never forget." The heavy cotton of the bed sheets wrapped and twisted around his legs, reminding him of the feeling of another sensuous body tangled around his own. Now there was something he hadn't experienced for an ungodly amount of time. Pushing down his unsatisfied libido – for the time being, anyway – Dean let himself relax into the bed, determined to not have an encore of his nightmare. Within minutes, his exhausted mind was floating into Morpheus' realm.

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A/N: So here it is, my first attempt at a SN story! I hope people enjoy and stick around for upcoming chapters.


	2. Chapter 2

Heard 'Round the World: Part 2 of ?

Disclaimer: I don't even own a car. How would you expect me to own something as awesome as this?

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Let it be said that Dean Winchester cared for his little brother deeply.

Which was the only reason Sam wasn't currently pushing up the daisies, going to meet his maker, kicking the bucket and whatever other euphemisms John Cleese could come up with. If Dean had to hear one more prod about the dream he'd had last night, it really wouldn't be fair to hold him accountable for his retaliating actions. True, most of the time Sam was pushing for canonization, but there were other instances – such as now – when he could try the patience of even the most even-tempered of saints. Here Dean was, trying to concentrate on reading current news articles, and all Sam could think of was his brother's half-assed imitation of Haley Joel the night before. It was just a freak dream, brought on by stress and lack of sleep, nothing for his brother to worry his college boy head over.

College boy, as would be expected, had a different view on the subject. Being the psychic freak was Sam's job, goddamnit, and he would be damned if his protector had to go through the same pain he experienced before almost every hunt now.

"Would you just fucking tell me what you dreamed about?" Dean took several deep breaths, imagining John Winchester's face if he found out that Dean had murdered his own brother

"Sam, if you don't stop playing psychologist, I'll rip your tongue out." That wasn't too harsh, was it? Judging by Sam's sigh it had done the trick, though Dean felt bad about channeling his father when Sam so keenly hated that side of the Winchester patriarch.

"So, what have you found?" Sam asked, and Dean was able to detect a disappointed tone that accentuated his feelings of regret at throwing his brother's good intentions back into his puppy-dog face. But even the thought o f revisiting the nightmare sent a shiver down his spine. The fact that a dream, horrible as it may be, could reduce him to screams seriously dented his bad boy facade and that was something he could not let Sammy see. Dean had once been Sam's hero, someone who'd stood on a pedestal above Superman, above Power Rangers, and even above their father, and Dean took his role with a seriousness usually reserved for the pool tables or thinking up witty comebacks. This was why he had sent John away in Chicago and why he would do it again in a heartbeat – not only did they make John weak, but his presence weakened the brothers as well. If their dad had stayed away, remained AWOL like he'd had no problem doing the last seven months, Dean would have remained on guard like Sam had been telling him outside the hotel room; Dean wouldn't have had to watch Sam get ripped away from their father after almost reconciling; he wouldn't have had to bandage his bloody and bruised baby brother after finally stopping when the Impala ran out of fuel. But Sam could never know his fear or weakness, because weakness caused death and heroes don't let their charges die.

"Dean, did you hear me?" Sam's impatient voice rocketed him back to the present and green eyes looked up lazily to meet hazel, a smirk pulling at his lips.

"As promised, one fun-filled jaunt has our name written all over it," the older brother replied to his young grasshopper. For some reason, the young grasshopper did not look amused.

"Care to give any details, or are we gonna do this blindfolded – shoot first, ask questions later, just like you love?"

"The only think I love blindfolds with is women, Sammy-boy." The retching sound he received in response did a lot to bolster his mood. "Ok, here we go." He turned the laptop toward his brother, motioning for him to read the article. Sam leaned forward so as to decipher the tiny print.

_**The Camden Comet**_

**_2004 Horror Revisited_**

_'They were shots heard 'round the world, harsh blasts that set the scene for this decade's 'Columbine'. One April 16, 2004, River View High School was turned into a war zone by seven armed students who took over the school, killing thirty-five children and wounding fifteen, including six teachers before the day was done. Now, this terrible tragedy seems to be being reenacted by curious teenager looking for a scare. Since many of the surviving student body and staff refused to set foot in the building where the massacre took place, River View High was closed and a new school was erected. However, the condemnation of the building has not ceased the flow of teenagers through its doors. The stories of the high school's haunting have made it a popular place for practical jokes, and sadly, it seems that one of them has gone too far._

_Recently, several bodies have been found inside of the school after citizens in nearby houses reported hearing gunshots coming from the property. The cause of death of all four bodies found so far is determined to be lethal bullet wounds._

"_This is a sick joke being playing by malicious (explicative)," says Miranda Glaze, who was one of the last group to flee the building before the S.W.A.T team went in. She and the other four who escaped with her – Evan Sambini, Recarlo Thompson, Neal Richards, Olivia Carter, and Christopher Farrow – all attend the new high school, Camden High, and are in their senior year. Glaze was hit in the leg by a bullet when trying to escape._

"_I can't believe that someone would be so callous as to try and recreate that day," comment Sambini and Thompson. They were injured in the side and shoulder respectively during their sprint to safety.'_

Sam looked up from the article, doubt coloring his features.

"I'm not sure, Dean. This really does sound like a horrible practical joke." Dean rolled his eyes at his little brother's lack of confidence.

"Come on now. Teens dying in the same way over thirty did two years ago? Man, the kids today aren't that cruel; they would know better. I bet before this article, the shooting still wasn't really talked about – too fresh and all that." Sam copied Dean's move and rolled his eyes, this time at his older sibling's lack of tact when dealing with anything pertaining to the vast realm of emotions. Wendigos and werewolves were not a problem, but show Dean someone who needed comforting (ruling out the attractive young female, obviously) and he ran away screaming like a girl.

"'Too fresh and all that'? I'm never taking you to a funeral, that's for certain."

"Oh come on, I behaved when we went to that wake for that chick's dad – the one who killed his wife."

"Jesus, Dean! The guy was murdered by Bloody Mary, and for all we know, it could've been an accident. The bitch didn't necessarily see shades of gray."

"See, now you got us off topic. How did you ever pass those college courses? Are we going or what?"

"You seem to have a distracting affect on me, and fine. We'll go, but for the record, I'm pretty sure it's a bunch of idiot kids –"

"Who have a penchant for murder?"

"Who started a deadly joke and are now too scared to stop, so the blame the ghosts haunting the building."

Dean was already up and moving around, gathering his scattered belongings and tossing them by his suitcase. Sam moved around him and the two methodically cleaned up the motel room as they had so many times before at so many different locations. In fifteen minutes, the Impala was greedily eating pavement and putting the roadside dump in its rearview mirror as it sped towards Camden, North Carolina.

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A/N: I will say now that this story deals with issues that many people may find touchy. It does have many parallels to the Columbine shooting several years ago, so if weapons in schools and such bothers you, I would suggest you not read this story.


	3. Chapter 3

Heard 'Round the World: Part 3 of ?

Disclaimer: Anything recognizable belongs to Kripke and Co. I wish I could do more than play with their toys...

Thanks to my reviewers, I love you all and hope that the length of this chapter makes up for the delay.

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The monotony of their everyday life was definitely getting to him, Sam decided as the Impala streaked past more acres of farmland. Find monsters, kill monsters, find more monsters, repeat step two. It was all blurring together under one big umbrella labeled 'Things Not To Tell Grandkids – Like You'll Live To Have Any'. Depressing really, but at least his subconscious had no trouble being blunt, unlike others', such as maybe the bullheaded, leather-wearing, witticism-spouting asinine excuse for a man sitting next to him, whose subconscious was so repressed that it ended up bulldozing its way out of the dark recesses of what Sam hesitated to call a mind and into his dreams, thusly making him scream like a banshee. Sam had now abandoned the idea that his brother was the next Patricia Arquette since it didn't fit the pattern Max and he had set, and was now stuck on the notion that Dean was having trouble dealing with what their asshole of a father – and Meg, of course... – had put them through in Chicago. For the millionth time, the brunette ran through every curse in each of the fifteen languages he was fluent in, wishing the worst luck on John-fucking-Winchester.

The man did nothing but bring his boys problems. He separated them from the rest of the world, was the indirect (if not direct) cause of every single bruise and broken bone the Winchester boys had ever suffered through in silence, had driven Sam away because he was not able to grant his youngest the four years of normal both Dean and John had been lucky enough to have, and now, to top it all off, he burdened Dean with abandonment issues deeper that the young man's love for his car.

Five years ago, when a seventeen-year-old Sam had dropped the bomb about going to Stanford, the brothers had verbally and physically hashed out all of their problems. Words were screamed, fists connected with various body parts, but by the end of the week, both sides had made their peace. Sam had explained his reasons and Dean gave his blessing after extracting a promise for a call every week. Daddy Dearest was the only wild card in their plan and one that refused to be swayed. So Sam had left, stormed out of the house after turning down Dean's offer of a ride with John's eyes on them, fearing that their father would take revenge on Dean for "helping the enemy".

Their system had worked for several months, Dean calling Sam every Saturday to make sure his brother was happy and adjusting. But all that ended on the twelfth call when John came into the motel room to find his son of the phone with the one who had abandoned their family. One verbal lashing for both boys later, as well as most likely a physical one for Dean (Sam remembered every drunken belt whip delivered to both of them and doubted their father had improved in ninety days) and Sam didn't get another phone call for the remainder of the time he was at college. He had tried his brother's cell every week for a while, leaving voicemails when it inevitably went to the answering machine, but finally faced the fact that he was now truly alone. Two days later, he met Jess and his life had light again.

John had abandoned Dean with no such forethought or consideration as Sam's two weeks notice. He had forced his eldest to survive from text message to text message, just disappearing on a hunt with no warning or explanation and leaving his boys to fend for themselves even after his youngest lost a girlfriend in a way horribly familiar to the Winchesters. He claimed he was searching for the demon responsible for the death of both of the family's women, but then where was he when the monster struck in California? Sam was doubting his father's words and intentions more each mile they traveled, but his current company halted him from expressing such "unfounded" criticisms.

Leaning his head against the cool window, he tuned out AC/DC's 'Back in Black' blaring from the speakers and closed his eyes tiredly. He had been thinking for the past hour and a half, which had given him a bitch of a headache, though it was most likely also partially the fault of Dean's deplorable choice in music; he seriously thought he was about to sprout a mullet any minute.

A sharp poke in the side caused him to jerk and hit his head hard against the unforgiving glass. Sam swore colorfully before turning to glare at the one responsible. Dean was smiling, and Sam half-expected to see yellow canary feathers between his teeth when the twenty-seven-year-old opened his mouth to talk over the whir of the engine and crashing guitars.

"So, I'm thinking we should find out more of the history of the building and school shooting before we go in all guns-blazing."

"Awful expression given the circumstances, Dean, but I'm impressed enough with your foresight that I'll overlook that little misspeak." Sam smirked when his brother's smile gave way to a scowl.

"Time to get to work, geek boy," the blond growled good-naturedly. "It's time to use your magic little fingers to find us some background info." The youngest Winchester rolled his eyes even as he fished out the laptop from under the seat and booted up the saved Word file of all the articles he'd found on the Camden Comet website and scrolled down to the one that had been printed the day of the shooting. Trained eyes quickly scanned the text, vital pieces of information leaping from the pages and burrowing through his eyes and into his brain. Shaking he head sadly at what he had learned, he methodically searched all of the articles he had saved pertaining to the "R.V.H.S. Massacre". He shut the computer with a sigh forty-five minutes after beginning his research and Dean looked over expectantly, waiting for the information he knew was coming.

"There were seven shooters, just like the first story said," Sam began, with a weariness coloring he voice that had nothing to do with his lack of sleep. "Eric Litesharp, Connie Alexander, Lewis Arcon, Joseph Ropert, Alli Shapiro, Scott Sumner, and Norman Collier. Eric, Joseph, Alli, Scott, and Norman were all sophomores; Connie was a freshman; Lewis was a junior. According to those who knew them, all seven were real outcasts and victims of almost daily teasing. They were 'awkward and stood out'. From all reports, it seems that Eric Litesharp was the ringleader and organizer of the whole affair. All seven came to school armed that day, and during the change between first and second period the positioned themselves – three covering all of the exits and four at the staircases – and started firing.

"Some of the escapees claim that for the first, maybe, half hour, the gunmen were just firing randomly, not necessarily looking to kill. After that while, though, they started getting serious. Many of the kids had managed to get out of the building during the initial chaos, but even during that, when any of the seven say someone who had teased them or was a typical jock, they would shoot to kill. Most of the thirty-five murdered turned out to be on a sports team or were really popular."

Sam sighed and Dean brought worried eyes to search his brother's face.

"Finally," the brunette continued, so as to let Dean know that he was fine, "the only living people in the school were the five teens mentioned in the first article we read. Miranda, Evan, Recarlo, Olivia, Christopher, and Neal. While they were in there, Eric committed suicide. Connie had been overpowered and shot with her own weapon earlier. The other shooters had left their original places a long time ago, along with Eric and Connie, so the five were able to escape from where they were on the second floor and get outside of the building. Unfortunately for them, Lewis had positioned himself by a window above the front exit. When the group ran out, Lewis fired. Three of them were injured, but all survived. The police opened fired at the window and Lewis was killed. The four remaining gunmen were captured when the S.W.A.T team stormed the facility."

Dean nodded solemnly when Sam finished rattling off his accumulated information. There were no witty comments or snide remarks he could come up with this time, the tragedy of what the brothers had signed on the investigate now hit him full force. Not only were there thirty-five spirits of innocent teenagers inside the high school, but three crazed murderers as well, if nothing had happened to the other four after they were arrested. It was almost a throwback to Rockford, though he couldn't say anything like that to Sammy.

"Dean?" his charge said slowly, timidly. "We aren't dealing with just one spirit of a psycho killer this time." Then again, apparently he didn't need to say anything; Sam had already gotten there on his own. The middle Winchester nodded, his position and face relaxed, voice giving nothing away.

"Yep. But our issues are already sorted out – we both know that your words were twisted. Remember, bro, Ellicott came after me, too. I know what he tried to do to your mind." A quirky grin spread over Dean's features. "Besides, I'll keep an unloaded gun on me, just in case." At that, Sam rolled his eyes, his own smile answering Dean's.

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

Sam settled back against the leather couch seat, he lips dropping from the upward curve as soon as Dean's focus returned to the road. There were still misgivings and doubts running around in his head after discovering the full history of River View High, even though the siblings still didn't know if it was a possession case – the details were similar enough to cause worry. The tragic story pulled at his heartstrings, however, and when he thought about not only what the thirty-five victims had gone through and the terror they must have felt, but also when he tried to imagine what had driven the seven shooters to take the lives of their peers, his resolve to free Camden from its ghostly torment was cemented.

Shaking his head and struggling to focus on another topic, Sam glanced over at his older companion, eyed the stiff, determined set of Dean's jaw and the way he confidently gripped the wheel. That sight stilled his brain's nervous chatter and helped ease the tenseness in his shoulders that had accompanied his worried thoughts. They would get out of this all right.

They had to.

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A/N: So now we're starting to get the background info. This will probably go on for a couple of chapters before the action picks up. Happy reading!


	4. Chapter 4

Heard 'Round the World: Part 4 of ?

Disclaimer: Anything recognizable belongs to Kripke and Co.

A/N: This chapter is not my favorite. I like the beginning and the end, but the middle fought with me. As are the rest of the chapters in this whole fucking story. So the updates might not come so often anymore.

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Dean roared into Camden, North Carolina at eight o' clock A.M. on a Sunday morning, his foresight not extending to the fact that normal people had most likely never seen this early on the Sabbath, and was therefore surprised to see mutinous eyes peek out from behind floral curtains. Sam chuckled in the seat beside him and Dean turned to his brother with a glare of his own. Revving the engine in childish retaliation to the suburban-dweller's disapproval, Dean nevertheless picked up the pace to get out from under their scrutiny quicker. This only furthered Sam's amusement, so, being the older brother, he was obliged to reach over and cuff the snickering brat on his geek head. That, however, did not produce the desired effect and only caused Sam to laugh harder. 

"Dude," the twenty-two-year-old gasped as her tried to catch his breath, "you're afraid of housewives and their mild-mannered husbands?" A loud 'huh' answered him before the blond had come up with the words to rebuff the baseless accusations.

"It's not fear, it's..." Dean searched for the appropriate noun as they finally made it to the business part of the town, which was located directly at its center. He could see as small, homely motel across from a McDonald's and pulled into the driveway before completing the thought. "...consideration." Oh yeah, _that_ would put Sam in his place.

"You acted like they could kill you with their minds! Think the town's inhabited by some freak-ass psychics, bro?" The man in question opted not to dignify the jab with an answer and haughtily got out of the car, shutting the door soundly behind him. His brother followed his lead, chortling still. The two breezed through the motel's entrance and Dean confidently approached the main desk with Sam at his shoulder.

"One room please, two queens," he told the grandmother of a check-in clerk, who eyed him resignedly when he fished out on of his many credit cards. She signed the false name to the register and plucked a key from the rack to her right, writing down the number in another column before sliding it across the wood table top to Dean's waiting hands. Turning around, he walked down the hallway to their left, trusting Sam to follow him, pleased when he wasn't disappointed. The young man didn't acknowledge how shaken he was about his sibling claiming that he would be leaving when the hunt for Jessica's killer was over until moments like these – times when he wasn't sure whether Sam was behind him, wasn't sure that Sam was still at his side or staying behind. It was stupid of him to be worried that his brother wouldn't follow him into a motel room, but the example put all his fears into an easy metaphor, so he let his philosophical side have it's fun before returning to the regularly scheduled programming. Their door was the third on the right and the key allowed them entrance to the surprisingly neat, modestly – but not puke-inducingly – decorated room.

Sam slipped past Dean, his gaunt form easily fitting between the doorframe and his brother's body standing several paces inside the room. He flopped down on the bed tiredly, causing Dean to turn green eyes on him, concern quickly masked behind the tough exterior.

"You gonna get some sleep?" There was a hopefulness in his tone that he couldn't mask no matter how loudly his bravado ranted at him, but Sam shook his head.

"No, I'll sleep when I need to. I'm not tired right now, just sore from sitting in that death trap on wheels for hours." Defeat made the older brother hang his head and shake it sadly before allowing himself to give into their familiar banter, even though the light-hearted jests seemed more like a chore when they were being flung at one who was courting a Reaper.

"My baby is not a 'death trap'! Such slander will not be tolerated!"

"Does your _baby_ have any airbags, or was the damn antique made before those were invented?" His mood wasn't high enough for him to continue with the pair's easy repartee of just fifteen minutes ago, so Dean didn't muster that energy to answer and instead collapsed on the one still-unoccupied bed. Sam propped himself up on an elbow and gazed worriedly at his sibling.

"Dean? Hey man, you okay?" The blond couldn't hold back a harsh bark of laughter at his younger brother being worried for his health when the brunette's own was setting him up for a one-way boat ride across the River Styx. If his eyes had been open, he would have seen Sam's frown deepen and the too-thin arms begin to push himself off of the bed, but as it was, Dean heard the bedsprings creak and nipped his companion's mother hen routine in the bud.

"Don't worry, Sam, I'm just practicing healthy sleeping methods. Most people aren't up now, as we found out arriving, so apparently they're not completely addle-brained, though the whole Stepford resemblance still freaks me out. I'm taking a page out of their books and getting some shuteye." A snort came after his comments from the man on the other bed, but Dean continued before his sibling could say a word. "Look, I know sleep is a foreign concept to you, but be so kind as to let _me _keep my face form looking like the things we hunt every day." There was no response, just another series of groans from the mattress as Sam's body was lowered back down. Nodding in satisfaction, Dean rolled over on his side and promptly submitted himself to dreams of naked Playboy models equipped with blindfolds and handcuffs.

Sam had no such luck in summoning the Sandman. Despite his brother's spoken and unspoken allegations that he was neglecting his health, the youngest Winchester wasn't intentionally letting himself waste away. After Jess' murder, both sleep and hunger had abandoned him until it reached a critical point, where he would catch a nap and eat maybe half of the heart attack-on-a-bun Dean saw as gourmet food. Apart from those times, the need disappeared, though Sam did struggle and sometimes succeed to capture the elusive 'Z's. It was those nights he woke up screaming, images bombarding him of either his beloved girlfriend burning or a random person becoming rudely acquainted with the supernatural. Such visions were the reason he mostly stopped searching for rest, instead waiting until his mind finally decided that it needed to shut down for a while and regroup.

He appreciated Dean's concern, honestly, but to keep things in perspective, Sam wasn't the one who'd come face to face with Death recently. There was still worry in the back of Sam's mind that proclaimed the heart not fully restored to it's full strength, that foresaw his brother's collapse on a hunt and the hospital Dean wouldn't walk out of. That fear only made him lose whatever appetite he might have mustered and tormented fevered dreams with the images of Dean's deathly white face, of the corpse being laid into the ground, which caused him to keep himself awake, spending time with his very much alive pain-in-the-ass sibling.

The brunette pushed himself off of the bed, careful not to wake the slumbering form stretched out on the other mattress. Now that his muscles were no longer stiff and aching from being in the same cramped position for hours, he could look up the five survivors mentioned in almost all of the articles. The young men needed addresses and ideas of what they were dealing with, a task Sam specialized in. And maybe, just maybe, the information would prevent the verbal ass-kicking Dean was sure to have the idea of dishing out when he the middle he found out that Sam had gotten no more than three hours of sleep in that many days.


	5. Chapter 5

Heard 'Round the World: Part 5 of ?

Disclaimer: See previous chapters, I'm tired of rewriting it.

This part is for Faye, because she got my ass in gear to write this part.

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The early morning sun streaming through the thin motel window curtains drew Dean from the depths of his dreams and back into the real world, albeit kicking and screaming. Mumbling grumpily, he pushed the covers down to his waist and heaved himself onto his elbow, using the other arm to rub sleep from his eyes. His gaze roamed the room, taking in the open laptop and the coffee cups scattered around it, along with the newspaper spread across the table. Well, so much for reverse psychology. Apparently, Geek Boy had been up all night. The kid sure as Hell better have real good news, or so help him, Dean was going to kick his brother's ass to the darkest pits of Kingdom Come and back again.

"Dean, you're awake." Speak of the sleepless devil.

"Sam, you didn't sleep." Dean never was one to dance around the subject.

"It's been almost twenty-four hours since we first arrived in town, how do you know I didn't sleep at all?" If he had let himself, Dean could've split his gut laughing. _I know, kid._

"You're sheets aren't rumpled and you have about twenty coffee cups by the computer there. I don't know Sam, maybe I just had a lucky guess." There was a sigh from the stick that was gallivanting around as a person, so maybe he had finally gotten through. And maybe wishes were horses, pigs could fly, and Jessica hadn't burst into flames above his brother's bed. Hey, the dreams were nice while they lasted, but there always seemed to be a rude wake-up call when it concerned Sammy.

"You'd be amazed at the revitalizing powers caffeine bestows on the human body, brother dear. I feel as though I've slept twenty-four hours. Oh wait, that was you. Yeah Dean, you're in a real good position to be lecturing me when you wore yourself out so much that you were in dreamland for a whole day." With a snort, Sam went kicked the door closed with his foot and carried the two styrofoam cups to the small table that separated the two single beds. Dean gratefully took one, noticing that this was actually a quality brew, not the crappy-ass liquid tar served in most of their stops. At least Sam had taste when it came to the only thing he put into his body.

"So Sam, what are me and the Skeleton Kid up to today?" Dean wasn't sure if his brother had just begun to block him out or if the appeal of _more_ caffeine was just too strong, but Sam didn't bother to think up a retort.

"We're gonna talk to Miranda Glaze." There was a pause.

"Come again?"

"Well, she's the one who knows the most about what happened inside the school that day. According to some reports, Eric Litesharp killed himself standing above her." Sam's face disappeared into his cup.

"And you call me tactless? You know, all these sleepless nights must be catching up to you, Dracula, because as awesome as I might be at charming information out of people, a tormented kid won't just spill about one of her classmates blowing his brains out in front of her."

"Friend." Sam's voice was muffled, seeing as he was talking to his coffee.

"Friend?" There was another sigh. Dean was getting tired of that sound.

"Miranda, Evan, Recarlo, Neal, Olivia, and Christopher were all friends with the shooters to some degree." That stopped any remark Dean had been about to make in its tracks. Fuck. They weren't just dealing with traumatized kids, they were dealing with traumatized kids who had been betrayed by people they cared about.

"How come this wasn't in any of the articles?" the blond managed to hiss out, his brain still wrapping itself around the new information.

"Why do you think, Dean?" There it was again, the same weariness as when Sam had first rattled off the information about the hunt they'd chosen. The kind that said 'this is going to be something deep and painful, not one of the regular jobs.' Dean knew the feeling intimately, ever since the Bloody Mary fiasco. "The parents, they didn't want their kids to be hurt or harassed. So they got the media to leave out that detail. But it's in the police reports. Turns out Miranda went to the school officer the day of the shooting – said that Eric had asked her to be part of a gang that would 'teach those bullies a lesson'. Kid got worried that he would go through with the threat even though she declined, so she told the officer all about it. Eric was searched and everything, his locker was looked through, but no weapons were found. Two hours later..."

"The nonexistent weapons are rendering kids nonexistent."

"Yeah."

What could be said? The situation was now doubly fucked up. How the hell were they supposed to get more in depth information? No way were any of the kids mentioned in the articles gonna want to talk. Not when it had been their friends turning the school into a fucking war zone.

"Well, Sammy-boy, this puts another Big Foot sized hole in your plan. No way is Miranda gonna want to talk to us. She's probably been spending the last two years trying to forget she ever knew those kids. We can't just barge in and try to make her open up. What's she gonna tell us anyway? We know what happened, mostly."

"Mostly isn't good enough, Dean. And as pleasantly surprised I am that you seem to have grown a conscience – priest outfits, you remember those? – Miranda and her gang are the ones who know the most about the motives. Maybe the shooters didn't just want the jocks. Why would the teachers have been killed, then? I'm thinking there was something else going on besides revenge. Glaze and the others, they knew they perps. They might know something... all we really know now is that Eric Litesharp was out for revenge. What do we know about Connie or Lewis?"

"Nothing," Dean conceded with a sigh. His brother was right, they really had nothing to go on when it came to the other shooters. With their luck, it would be all three of the kids who were haunting the high school, not just one or two of them. And then there was the question of whether the killings were the results of possessions like at Roosevelt or if the ghosts were still wielding weapons from the dead. Either way, the cleansing of the property was going to be messy, but at least they would go in prepared. Probably with one unloaded gun each.

"So, we going in a couple hours?" Sam asked. Dean gave him a funny look that elicited another sigh. "The kids are in high school, bro. It's 10:30 in the morning. We'll have to wait until 2:15 to get to talk to them." Dean nodded his acceptance. What else could he do – it seemed that Sam at least used his time productively, if not in a way that would elongate his lifespan.

"Yeah, that's cool. What do you want to do in the meantime?" A mischievous look found its way to his brother's face and Dean immediately grew concerned.

"Well, there is this infomercial for Downy on TV..." A pillow came rocketing towards his head and found its mark with the precision of a torpedo. The fight was on.

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A/N: So, I'm back! Yeah, the hugegiganticenormous lit crit paper on the social psychology of the patients in Solzhenitsyn's Cancer Ward is over and handed in, so now I have time to write what I want! Hopefully, Faye won't have to PM me to remind me that I have a story to write anymore...

This chapter is mostly just more background, so I promise we will get to meet the kids next chapter, definitely. Thanks to everyone for holding in here through the slow start.


	6. Chapter 6

Heard 'Round the World: Part 6 of ?

So, I know it's been forever since I updated, but I hope you all can forgive me. Now that school is out (hurray!) I can finally concentrate on the important things. Like writing. Fanfiction. For you all to read. Keep those reviews coming, because the death threats seem to have a positive effect on my updating schedule.

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Sam tapped his fingers in a rhythmless pattern against the back of the front seat as he restlessly waited for the clock to strike 2:15 pm. It had been about four hours since the brothers had rendered the motel's pillows featherless, an action which had earned them harsh glares form the staff, and Dean was still looking like a chicken had roosted in his hair. How so many feathers had found nest in his brother's short locks Sam would never know.

"You know, if I wasn't such a generous and forgiving guy, you might be six-feet under at the moment," Dean grumbled good-naturedly, picking yet another piece of white fuzz out of his hair. Sam just chucked and looked out of the window at that comment, and let himself relax into their easy trading of barbs. He was relieved that the tension and the interrogation from hours ago was gone and replaced by this calm atmosphere, if only so that the brothers would be able to work in tandem when questioning Miranda Glaze and her friends. Though he was loath to admit it in front of his brother, Sam was dreading meeting the six kids and was willing the clock to go slower with every ounce of the great power he swore he could feel inside himself.

_RING!_

Or maybe... not so great. The younger Winchester heaved a deep sigh as both Dean and he pulled themselves out of the Impala; kids were now streaming out of the brick building and into the bus loop and parking lots. It was time to start the hunt. Dean had a picture of Miranda firmly in his hands and the location of where she usually waited for a ride pulled begrudgingly from the matronly school secretary, who seemed to be on a personal crusade to watch of and protect 'that poor dear girl and her sweet friends'. _Then again_, Sam thought, _maybe the kids need all the protecting they can get. Nothing like having a gun pointed at you head by you best friend to traumatize you for life._

As the pair neared the designated spot, both of them caught sight of a girl standing right where the woman had said. Dean gave a quick glance between the photo he held and what they could see of the girl's face and nodded to Sam. It was her.

"Excuse me, Miranda Glaze?" Dean approached the student with a much more reserved air than Sam had ever seen on him before. That in and of itself cemented the knowledge and truth in Sam's mind: this case was the usual fair.

Both brothers had to struggle not to start as Miranda whipped around and they got their first full look at her. And achingly thin face greeted them, pale as the moon but covered in freckles that also adorned her arms. A contrasting high forehead and small button nose made her look a bit younger than her years, but her long legs, curvy torso, and mature chest alleviated doubt that this was a teen on the verge of becoming a woman. Her red-gold hair was choppily cut to a little below her chin, adding a modern edge to her appearance. Right now, her greyish eyes were wide and locked on the two young men who'd snuck up behind her and startled her.

"Who are you? How do you know my name? What do you want?" She fired off her questions rapidly, and Sam put up his hands in a placating manner. He noted appreciatively that the girl's eyes were everywhere at once, taking stock of the situation and surroundings. He actions both impressed and saddened him, because he doubted she would have done that before the school shooting.

"It's okay, Miranda, we're not going to hurt you," he began as calmly as he could. "My name's Sam, and my friend is Dean. We're with the N.C. National Guard and were assigned to help the police end this prank as soon as possible. We were actually hoping you might help us become more familiar with the history of the place. Newspapers and townspeople can only tell us so much."

Sam knew he didn't have to elaborate on what 'prank' or place he was talking about when Miranda flinched as though in pain. Oh yeah, she still carried scars. Yet her tense stance relaxed somewhat and she let her backpack fall to the ground, her silence inviting Sam to continue.

"We know how painful this must be for you; reliving it everyday because of a heartless copycat. But trust us when we say that all was want to do is end this, for the sake of everyone in Camden. If there were someone more familiar with the events of that day other than you and your friends, we would ask them but there isn't. Please. Maybe if you give us information, no one else will die."

"How d'you figure that?" Miranda hadn't taken her eyes off the pair, and was now fiddling with the hem of her Beatles shirt.

"Well," This was where Dean picked up, "since the perps are copying the style, they might be copying the motive as well. We know that Evan, Recarlo, Olivia, Chris, Neal, and you all had ties with the original shooters. If you could, we would like you to give us a fuller idea of what really happened that day."

By now, it seemed the small group had gotten the attention of several other students. Eyeing each other with slight apprehension, three jogged over the see what was going on.

"Miranda," one of them said firmly, placing a hand lightly on her forearm in an almost protective way, " you're sister has your car over there because of traffic. Anything wrong?" Miranda gave the two boys and one girl a small grin before turning back to Dean and Sam.

"It's nothing big, Evan. You, Olivia, and Neal can go back to the Mustang. Just tell Micki I'll be there in a couple minutes." Sam absorbed the identities of the newcomers and surreptitiously examined them. Evan was obviously Jewish and possessed a very ethnic appearance. He stood head and shoulders above Miranda when they were side by side, making him only several inches shorter than Dean. Neal was as tall as Dean but with a sandy complexion. He resembled Miranda a lot, except for the healthy tan to his skin and muscle coating his limbs. Olivia, on the other hand, was very like Miranda in her slender build, but she was African-American and her dark skin contrasted harshly with the other three's milky complexions. At the moment, all three were regarding the Winchesters with suspicion and distrust, but at Miranda's urging they returned the way they'd come. Miranda herself was still staring steadily at the two before her.

"You just wanna know what happened that day?" she asked in tired resignation. Sam nodded, his face displaying compassion for the girl. Reliving the horror was something she no doubt shied from at every chance, but to save the town she would willingly do it before two complete strangers. "If ya want the full thing, you should come to my house in an hour or so; Evan and the other five will be there. I'm guessing you can find my house the same way you found my name?" The brunette allowed himself to chuckle softly before nodding. She was smart all right – not giving out her address in case the people talking to her weren't who they claimed to be... which, in fact, they weren't. Smart girl. "All right. I'll have the others convinced by then." With that, she picked her bag up off the ground and walked to the 1967 Mustang parked several yards away. The door wasn't closed more than two seconds before the car sped off out of the school parking lot.

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"You sure you don't want to drive?" Micki asked her sister worriedly. Miranda nodded, leaning her head on the window. The twenty-year-old shared anxious glances with the three kids in the rearview mirror. "Who were the guys you were talking to, Randi?"

Miranda stayed quiet for a few moments more, unsure of how much to reveal to her overprotective sister. In the end she just shrugged her shoulders wearily as she watched the houses go by outside the window.

"Not who they said, but their safe enough. Just cautious, I got, not dangerous." Micki cast her an uneasy glance out of the corner of her eye, occupied with maneuvering Randi's car along the street.

"I know you're a good judge of character, kid, but if they lie..."

"Don't worry, Mick. They'll be coming to the house in an hour or so, and we can all get to know them better."

"You invited them over?" It was Neal who spoke this time, wariness coloring his tone.

"Yah, and I need all o' y'all there." The Southern touch in her voice became more pronounced. "They want to know... about recent events."

Her friends in the back seat stilled with this new information. Miranda turned in her seat to gaze at them beseechingly.

"Guys, they wanna stop what's goin' on. That much they were telling the truth about. Please, I don't think I can do this without the five o' you there to help me. And Micki too," she added to her sister, who nodded her head in acquisition, albeit reluctantly. And whether it was the pleading look on Miranda's face of the looming condemned structure of Riverside High School that showed itself behind her, Olivia, Neal, and Evan all came to the same painful conclusion. Olivia sighed and spoke for all of them.

"All right, count us in."

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A/N: So there you have it. Four of the six kids have been introduced and we are finally getting somewhere. Just a thing, there are no Mary-Sue's in this story, nor will it be romance. That said, go now and review!


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